Oh shit, Ryan thought. Suddenly everyone thinks I’m an ATM. But he liked Tony and wanted to be polite. “Sounds like a great idea, Tony. But I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to do with the Lotto money, so this is way too soon for me to be looking at investment opportunities.”
“But you won forty-seven million bucks, what’s two hundred thousand?”
“Thirty-four after taxes, but that’s not the point. It’s too soon, Tony, okay?”
Tony paused then said, “Okay.”
Ryan heard the disappointment in his voice. Ryan could imagine how much Tony and his mom had invested in this dream, a dream they had no way to realize. Then, out of nowhere, someone Tony knew morphed into a potential sugar daddy and suddenly anything was possible. Of course he had to ask Ryan for the money. “Look, Tony,” Ryan said, regretting the words even as he said them. “I’m not saying no. I’m just saying you need to give me a little time.”
“Oh, Ryan, that’s great,” Ramirez said, his excitement palpable. “You won’t be sorry, man.”
“Hold it, I haven’t said yes, yet; I just said we’ll talk about it later.”
“I know, I know, but when you read the business plan, you’ll realize this is a no brainer. I’ll send it right over.”
“Wait, whoa, what about the Colin Wood crime scene? You got anything for me?”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Not sure it’ll help much, but the blonde hair we found, it’s human all right, dyed, but no root. No root, no follicle, no DNA. It could also have come from a wig, so we’re can’t even say for certain the woman was blond. So, sorry Ryan, we’ve got nothing.”
Ryan didn’t expect much from Ramirez, but he was still disappointed. “Okay Tony, thanks.” Ryan hung up, he looked up to find Syd staring at him, Colin Wood’s iPhone in her hand. She’d checked for pictures and video; the phone had none. But it was loaded with music and the phone directory was extensive.
“I’ve got two numbers for you: Andrew Wood, the victim’s father, and Abigail Granger, former girlfriend.”
“Let’s try the father first,” Ryan said. Syd brought it up on the iPhone, tapped the number, handed the phone to Ryan. He got an answering machine.
“Sorry I missed your call,” a male voice said. “Please leave your name and number and I’ll call you back.”
“He’s not home,” Ryan said to Syd, and then left his name and cell phone number on the machine. Ryan looked up Abigail’s number on the iPhone and called. It rang.
The first contact with a prime suspect was critical, so Ryan always weighed his words and listened to their words very carefully.
It rang again and was answered. “Hello, asshole. What the fuck do you want?”
Ryan had to smile. Abigail obviously checked her caller ID and thought Colin was calling her. “Ms. Granger, this is Detective Ryan Magee of the Los Angeles Police Department.”
There was silence for a moment, then, “Police Department…?”
“I’m afraid Colin Wood has been the victim of a crime, Ms. Granger, and we’d like to talk to you.”
Ryan could almost hear her stiffen over the phone. “What kind of crime?”
“He’s been murdered.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, and then fear coated her next words. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
“Just routine, Ms. Granger. We understand you used to be close to Mr. Wood; hopefully you can give us information that will aid our investigation.”
Another pause, she was thinking. “Okay, I guess; I’m a hostess at the Ivy. I’ll be here all day.”
“My partner and I can be there in an hour.”
“You don’t wear uniforms or anything, do you? I mean, it won’t look good if I’m seen talking to a couple of cops.”
“We’re plainclothes detectives, Mr. Granger. We blend in just fine.”
A hesitant pause, then, “Okay. Oh, can you tell me how he died?”
A logical question, Ryan thought. The killer, of course, would have known he was shot, but this could also be another way to deflect suspicion. “He was shot,” Ryan said.
“Do you think he suffered?”
“No, death was probably instantaneous.”
“Too bad,” she snapped and hung up.
Ryan handed Syd back her cell phone. “That’s one angry woman.”
“Do you think she did it?”
“No. But hopefully she’ll be able to help us figure out who did.” Ryan noticed Lieutenant Hanrahan at the door of his office. Hanrahan crocked his finger in a come-here motion. “The boss wants us,” Ryan said and led Syd to the Lieutenant’s office.
“I heard about the 2 carved in Colin Wood’s chest,” Hanrahan said. “You think we’ve got a serial killer?”
“Not sure yet,” Ryan answered. “The perp could have put it there to throw us off.”
“No way, Chief,” Syd said, excited. “She put it there to mark her second victim. Two down and more to come. We’ve got a serial killer.”
“Try not to sound so happy about it,” Hanrahan said. “You positive it’s a she?”
“I am,” Syd said.
Hanrahan turned to Ryan. “How about you?”
“Probably. She may be working with someone else, a guy, maybe; too soon to tell.”
“Any precedent to numbers carved on a body?”
Ryan shook his head. “Nothing in our database, we’re checking VICAP.”
“The press have any idea yet?”
Syd laughed. “They’re too obsessed with Ryan’s windfall. A pack of L.A.’s most beautiful reporters ambushed us on our way in, bombarding Ryan with questions and wedding proposals.”
Hanrahan coughed up a throat full of phlegm, pulled a handful of Tootsie Roll Pops out of his desk drawer. He offered them to Ryan and Syd who both shook their head. Hanrahan unwrapped a cherry one for himself. “Well, I got a feeling serial killer will trump millionaire cop, right Ryan?” But when Hanrahan and Syd glanced at Ryan, Ryan was looking past them into the bullpen.
Syd followed his gaze to a beautiful brunette standing in the middle of the room. She had a Visitor’s badge pinned to her silk collar and was obviously searching for someone. Her eyes came to rest on Ryan. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then she gave him a tentative smile. Syd’s radar spiked. “Let me guess,” she said, keeping her tone neutral, “Your ex-wife?”
Ryan nodded. “Anne. I wonder what she’s doing here.”
Ryan had never told Syd much about his marriage. Just said they got married too young and it didn’t work out. But Ryan looked wounded right now. Vulnerable. Jealousy surged through Syd. But she couldn’t let Hanrahan sense it, or Ryan for that matter. So, as nonchalant as she could muster, Syd said, “Only one way to find out.”
Without ever taking his eyes from Anne, Ryan nodded again and walked into the bullpen.
“That is one beautiful woman,” Hanrahan said.
“She sure is,” Syd said, hating her.
Ryan reached Anne and gave her a polite hug. Same cologne, he thought. When she left him, Ryan used to smell her pillow at night to get a whiff of that cologne. It made him ache. “This is a surprise,” he said.
“I was in the station on business, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello,” she said, her eyes taking an inventory of his face. “God, you look great. You’ve really been taking care of yourself, Ryan.”
His eyes went from her brown eyes to her patrician nose and lingered on the small cleft in her chin. “You, too,” he said. “How’s Rick?” Ryan asked, hoping Anne’s husband had choked to death on a chicken bone or gotten stomach cancer and died a horrible death.
“He’s great. And you, are you with someone now?”
“No,” Ryan said, feeling guilty about Syd, but he could hardly admit to sleeping with his partner.
“I’d love to catch up, Ryan, you got a few minutes for a cup of coffee?”
“Not now, no. I’m in the middle of something. But I’d like that too; mayb
e in a day or so. Can I call you?”
“Absolutely,” Anne said, handing him her card. “And if you don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Anne leaned forward, kissed Ryan on the cheek. “Till then…”
Ryan watched her walk out the door. “Nice ass,” Syd said, joining Ryan.
“Not really,” Ryan said. “It’s riddled with cellulite.”
“Liar.”
“Okay, she’s got a great ass, and the rest of her ain’t too bad either, but she’s got one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s not you.”
Syd smiled. “You’re sweet. I’d kiss you if it wouldn’t get us fired.”
Ryan looked into Syd’s adorable freckled face. “It would almost be worth it. Now come on, we’ve got a murder to solve.”
NINE
Adam Devlin was going to die today.
He didn’t know it of course; he was firmly entrenched in his typical Tuesday routine. The day had started with the alarm waking him at five forty-five. He rolled over on his 1020 thread count, 100% spun Egyptian Cotton Sateen Jacurard sheets and looked into the sleeping face of his wife, Emily. Emily was cheerleader pretty, blonde, athletic, perky. They’d been college sweethearts at USC and gotten married the same June they graduated. And after seven years of marriage, they were still happy. Well, L.A. happy. She was having an affair with the eighteen-year-old boy living next door and Adam cheated regularly with an array of willing participants.
They lived in a five-million-dollar house in Brentwood, bought with the money Adam made as a wildly successful sports agent. Adam’s best friend in college was the USC quarterback, who went on to win the Heisman trophy, and then signed an eighty-million-dollar contract with the Washington Redskins. The quarterback signed on as Adam’s first client and after a blizzard of commercials and endorsements, other clients soon followed.
Adam rolled out of bed, slipped on a pair of Nike workout shorts, Under Armor tee shirt, Reebok socks and Adidas running shoes, all gifts from his many sponsors, and walked down the hall to his home gym. He jumped on his Precor treadmill, did twenty minutes at 4.5 miles an hour at 5% elevation, and then did twenty more minutes on his Parabody weight machine, also gifts from sponsors. He checked his email on his Samsung Galaxy then watched a 32 inch Sony LCD flat screen as he worked out, switching between ESPN and CNBC to catch up on two of his favorite things, sports and money.
Next he shaved with a Gillette Fusion razor, brushed his teeth with Crest toothpaste, showered with Irish Spring soap, shampooed with Pantene and dressed in his usual blue Levi 501’s, a pale yellow Tommy Hilfiger dress shirt, then slipped, barefoot, into a pair of Kenneth Cole loafers. Emily was up by then and had poured Adam a bowl of Grape Nuts, sliced him a Chiquita banana and made him a Starbucks decaf latte with nonfat Alta Dena milk and half a pack of Splenda. And yes, they were all sponsor gifts.
Adam and Emily chatted about their upcoming day. Emily had her tennis league at Riviera and a lunch at Geoffrey’s with Ellen and JoAnne.
Adam had a meeting with an NBA official in the morning, lunch with a golf pro client at Mr. Chow’s, then a meeting at the Bel Air Regent Hotel with some execs from BMW who wanted his clients in their cars.
So, with exactly eleven hours left to inhale oxygen, Adam steered his Salsa Red XKR 4.2 Supercharged Jag convertible into the parking lot of his Santa Monica office building. As he spun the wheel to pull into his assigned parking spot, a white Prius suddenly backed out of a spot in front of him and they collided.
“God damn it,” Adam said leaping out of his car to inspect the damage. It was minor, a small dent on his bumper, a bigger ding on the Prius, but he was still pissed. As the door to the Prius opened, he prepared a verbal assault that died in his throat when he saw the driver.
She was blonde, tall and beautiful. She wore a white halter-top, red shorts and sandals. She was more skin than cloth and Adam wasn’t complaining. This girl was hot.
“I’m so sorry,” the blonde said. “I’m such an idiot. Oh, and look at your beautiful car, it’s ruined.”
“Not at all, it’s just a scratch,” Adam said. “Your car took most to the damage.”
“I hope we don’t have to call the police or involve the insurance companies,” she said, her green eyes locked on his face. “My rates are already sky high and I couldn’t afford another hike.”
Adam could feel this woman’s sexuality. It practically radiated off of her. He had to have her, so he pulled out one of his favorite lines. “Are you an actress, or something,” Adam blurted out. “I mean, you are just so beautiful.”
The blonde blushed, embarrassed. “Me? No, no; I’m, well, to be honest, I’m out of work at the moment. I was hoping to find a job, something in fashion or advertising, but I just moved to town, so I don’t know anybody, and I’m having a hard time getting started.”
“I have a lot of contacts in advertising,” Adam said. “Maybe I could help you. My name is Adam, by the way…” Adam extended his hand.
The blonde took it, gave him a firm handshake. “Susie,” Alice said. “My name is Susie.”
Adam loved the feel of her skin, he let the handshake linger, and then reluctantly let go. “Tell you what, Susie, I’ve got a meeting at the Bel Air Regent Hotel this afternoon but I’ll be done about five-thirty. If you’ll meet me in the bar, we can talk and I bet I can help you get that job.”
“That’s fantastic! Adam, thank you so much,” then her eyes dropped to the damaged fenders. “But what about your car?”
“Don’t worry about it. In fact,” Adam said, pulling out a thick roll of hundreds and peeling off five. “Use this to get your bumper fixed. If I hadn’t been going so fast, you never would have hit me.”
“I can’t take your money.”
“You can and will,” Adam said, closing her hand around the handful of bills. “And that’s just the beginning. You’ve got a friend in L.A. now, me. So will I see you at the Bel Air Regent?”
Alice scrunched up her face pretending to think about it, and then nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Adam.” She stuffed the money in purse. “Thank you so much.”
Adam had a smile on his face as he got back into his car. A smile and a hard-on.
TEN
The Crown Vic smelled like pepperoni pizza. Ryan and Syd were sharing the car with a team from the vice squad that had been staking out a strip club waiting for a certain pimp to show up, and each morning Ryan and Syd knew what the team ate for dinner. They had eclectic taste, Chinese, Mexican, and last night, Italian.
Ryan was behind the wheel, talking on his cell phone. “Yes, that’ll be fine sir, and again, my sympathies.” Ryan disconnected. “Colin Wood’s father will meet us at the morgue at four o’clock to ID the body.”
Syd had the VICAP printout on her lap. “Good,” she said as Ryan drove down Robertson Boulevard en route to the Ivy restaurant. “Did you know there is actually a medical term for having your cock cut off, penectomy.”
“No way.”
“Way. That’s when doctors do it, if the patient has cancer or something. But when it’s involved in a crime, it’s just called mutilation. By the way, the killer of that drug dealer I mentioned in the office was caught and is currently in prison. And so is this guy in Germany who cut off some guy’s penis, watched him bleed to death, and then ate him.”
“Ate the guy’s penis?”
“Yeah, and other stuff. What a freak.”
“How about cases where the doer was a woman?”
“Been a while,” Syd said flipping through the pages. “You might’ve heard of Lorena Bobbitt; in 1993 she cut off her husband’s penis while he was asleep then threw it out the car window.”
“Why?”
“She was pissed he wouldn’t give her an orgasm.”
“In that case, I’ve got nothing to worry about,” Ryan said.
Syd smiled. With Ryan, she had multiple orgasms. “Nothing at all. Anyway, doctors were able to reattach Bobbitt’s penis and he went on
to become a porn star. And Mrs. Penis Remover was found not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. So a happy ending for everyone involved. Well, everyone but us.” She flipped through the report. “There are no cases of a woman killing a man and cutting off his you know what. Just a few angry women hacking away at lovers and boyfriends.”
“And nothing in the last few weeks or months?”
“No.”
“Shit.” Ryan’s cell phone rang. He answered. “Hello.”
“Hey Ryan, its Johnny.”
Ryan tried to place the name, couldn’t. “Johnny?”
“Johnny Grayson, you dope. Your one and only brother.”
My one and only stepbrother, Ryan thought, and for only eighteen months. Johnny was the son of Maggie, wife number two. A couple of years older than Ryan he had picked on Ryan relentlessly. Now he was a manager at Home Depot but spent every spare moment at the racetrack. Ryan thought the guy was a total loser and hadn’t spoken to him in a couple of years.
“Hey, Johnny, what’s up?”
“You are, bro. You are forty-seven million smackers worth of up.”
Fuck, Ryan thought. “Actually it’s only thirty-four after taxes.”
“Still enough to start that stable of horses we always talked about.”
“We never talked about a stable of horses, Johnny.”
“Okay, you may not have, but it’s something I’ve always dreamt of. And I figured it would be the perfect way for you to share your wealth with the family.”
Ryan wasn’t sure about a lot of things, including whether he was even going to take the money; but one thing he was sure of, there was no way Johnny Grayson was going to see a penny of it. “Look, Johnny, I can’t talk about this right now. I’m on a case. But I’ll call you back, I promise,” Ryan hung up, and then muttered, “When hell freezes over.”
“And so it begins,” Syd said.
“Oh, it’s begun all right,” Ryan said. “Tony Ramirez called me earlier about a meatball franchise, in the men’s room Chen begged me for just eighty-three thousand dollars so he could save his mother’s house from foreclosure, in the locker room Katz showed me a picture of the fishing boat he’s always dreamed of and it only cost one hundred and eighteen thousand dollars.” Ryan pulled to a stop in front of the Ivy. “God damn lottery ticket.”
In Cold Blonde Page 5